Memoirs Of An Unwanted Girl
by pansyfied69
Summary: Pansy looks back at her life and realizes all her mistakes along the way that lead to the most unbearable loss she has to suffer now that the war has ended.


**A/N: I do not own any of the character's in this story, all rights are reserved for their creator, J.K. Rowling.**

**This was my first every FF ever. Like, ever. And GOOOO DRANSY! I am a sucker for unrequited love. xD**

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><p>I remembered the pain, the whistling of the wind due to the lashing of the whip. I closed my eyes and tried to clear my mind, but the memory was too strong to shake away. In my mind's eye, I was looking at my five year old self, wearing my favorite silver gown lifted to my waist and is now smeared with blood. My white stockings in ruin, revealing the torn and bleeding flesh on the back of my thighs. My father was holding the whip, preparing to strike again. It was my fifth birthday and my father was beating me to death. Crying and shrieking did not help. The more I cried out, the harder and faster my father lashed the whip. Two hours later, when I thought I was finally going to die, he stopped.<p>

I could barely stand. The pain was excruciating, and moving made it even worse. I lay there on the mattress, facedown and motionless, too weak to even make a single sound. I wanted to die. My mind was slowly shutting down, the world was spinning and the images were blurry, there was a loud roaring in my ears, so deafening that I did not even hear my father leave the room and my mother come in. She tended to my wounds, closed them up and stopped the bleeding. She felt my wrist then levitated me to my room.

My mother. I called her name over and over again, begging for her to help me, to stop my father from beating me like a dog. But instead of helping me she just stood in the doorway and watched me suffer and wail in despair. I could not understand why she won't rush to my aid. Doesn't she love me? Does she want me to die? But I am not dead. And she tended to my wounds… Confusion and misery was killing me inside. The pain was subsiding but I still want to die more than I did while I was being whip-lashed. Too much for a five year old on her birthday.

I met Draco when I was six at Padma and Parvati's birthday party. The Patils were one of the prominent families in the wizarding world, having many business connections in different wizarding communities in Asia. Father thought it would be beneficial for him and mother to get to know and rub elbows with the important people that would be in the affair, obviously Draco's father thought of the same thing.

That boy couldn't look any more out of place. Those were my first thoughts when I saw Draco. He was a handsome boy, but he was wearing an ugly grimace on his face, like all of the stuffs going on around him were disgusting him to death. I laughed. He looked at me and frowned. I looked back, gazed directly into those cold eyes made of liquid steel. His face turned to a smug expression, he seemed mightily impressed.

He walked up to me and said, "This party is the worst I have attended. All these red and gold. I'm betting half of our fortune those girls' parents were once Gryffindors."

I scrunched my nose and looked around. Truth is, the party was boring me. All the stuffs that were prepared seemed too juvenile for my taste. The other children the same age as me looked as if they were mightily enjoying themselves… but then again, they weren't being beaten up with a whip like a house elf for two hours every other day, were they? They weren't being forced to act and think like a grown up and deal with pain with a straight face. I wonder if this boy in front of me was suffering the same fate as I was. Maybe not.

"Finally someone who share the same views as me. I'm Pansy."

"I'm Draco. Draco Malfoy."

My friendship with Draco started from there. Of course, my father was so happy about it. Everyone knew the Malfoys. They were the richest wizarding family in all of England, maybe even the world. Draco's father and mine happened to be old school friends and the fact that their children are now acquainted seems to amuse both of them. We saw each other much often. When we attend parties he would look for me, and I would look for him. We also had mutual friends, sons and daughters of prominent Ministry and business figures that moved around the same circle our families are in. Vincent Crabbe, Gregory Goyle, BlaiseZabini, Millicent Bulstrode, Tracey Davis, The Greengrass sisters and many more. We were the children of the elite; our little gang amused all of our parents. But of course, there was more to the story than just that.

At home, the whipping did not stop. When I turned seven it just got worse, partly because of my very low grades in my home study. Would you be able to concentrate if your bum hurts so bad you can hardly stay seated for long? My father calls it discipline, I call it torture. Every other day for years I had to endure the two hour routine of being whip-lashed. My mother and father would do it in the wee hours of the morning before they go to work, and every other day I had to wake up at four and be beaten up like a dog, until my flesh is torn and my throat dry and sore from screeching and screaming in pain. Countless times I wished I could just die in my sleep, but wishes never come true.

Draco visits me at home at times and we play in my room. There was an incident when he saw one of my bloody night gowns and asked me if I was already having my period. I laughed despite of myself.

"No I am most definitely not! I am nine, you silly!"

"Then what's this? Why is this so bloody?"

I gave him a steady determined gaze and I thought I freaked him out. I laughed again and he was taken aback. He grabbed my elbows and shook me hard.

"Tell me, Pansy."

There was no kidding in his voice. It was venomous but not deathly, though it really gave me the shivers. Draco was dead serious and his eyes were so sharp against mine, it seemed to penetrate my soul. I could not escape; I had to tell him the truth.

I started to take off my skirt. I thought he would flinch or turn around in disgust, but his gaze was steady, his expression serious. My skirt was off, and I turned around so he could see the back of my thighs. He gave a loud gasp. I took my skirt and put it on again, buying my time until I could blink away the tears that started on my eyes, so I could face Draco and pretend that I'm okay. When I looked at him he was looking back at me, giving me that expression that seemed to demand an explanation.

"Father..."

"Shush. I think I know. Father told me."

"Your father told you what?"

"Actually my father told me nothing. I overheard."

"You overheard what?"

"My mum and dad's conversation. About how sorry they were for you if your father was doing the same discipline your family has employed on their children for years. I heard many of the females in your family died before they even conquer pain."

"My mother is not dead. I will be able to live through this. I will be able to master pain."

"Pansy your mother and father, is it true…?"

"That they are first cousins, yes."

Draco surveyed me with his cool silver eyes for an entire minute.

"Pansy, I could ask them to stop it. My parents can adopt you instead..."

"Don't be silly, Draco. I'm fine. And I don't want them to stop it; I want to know how long I could last, or if I really could master pain. I'm in this too deep now. There is no more turning back."

I thought Draco would argue. I was looking down and waiting for him to make his retort, but instead, he did the thing I least expected of all. He hugged me.

For the first time in years, I felt that I was allowed to be vulnerable and weak. I Draco's arms I melted. All the pain I kept inside me poured out of my eyes and he accepted all of that. He held me in his arms until I was strong enough to stand on my own again, and I cried. I cried all the tears I locked up inside me. I hugged him back so tight, needing his strength for support. He did not mock me, he did not ask me to stop. He held me and allowed me to be weak in his arms. For the first time in my god-forsaken life, I am being comforted.

I knew right then and there that Draco and I were alike. He found comfort in me and me in him. We had to live up to expectations all our life, we had to fulfil standards, we have a responsibility. Everywhere we go we carry the name of our pureblood families, like chains tied around our necks. And our futures were written in pieces of parchments before we were even born to agree or disagree. We had no choice. The choice was made for us.

At least Draco's mother loved him. That's some advantage he has over me. Whereas my mother would only notice me if I did something wrong, a fault that needs to be corrected, an action worthy of reprimand. She always thought I was a disappointment, the biggest mistake of her life. Nothing I ever did was right, everything I am is wrong. When I was younger and more naïve I would always cry myself to sleep, pondering for long hours at night why she does not love me at all. I'm her daughter. How could she hate me so much? The answer, I found out, was pretty simple. I am no doll, my nose was pug which I got from my father but suited him and did not suit me. I am not bright; I am frail and sickly and have no special talents. I am not a child she could brag about to the world. I am not just ordinary, I am deficient.

The only consolation for all my sufferings was the material things my parents give me. I can have all the things money could buy and I indulged myself in them. I adored my clothes and admired my jewels; I loved my make-up and revered my toys. Yes, I poured my heart out to inanimate objects because they were all I had. And Draco. They made me happy, or at least, as close to happiness as I could ever get.

The beatings came to a halt when I went to school at 11, when I was finally able to master pain and keep a straight face while being beaten. No tears leaked out my eyes, no sound escaped my mouth. My father was immensely proud. When I went to school, I had instructions. Slytherin, or go straight back home. Of course it wasn't really all that hard for me to get into Slytherin. My parents were sorted into that house and I inherited the so-called pureblood pride from them. They preach it, you see. Anything that isn't pure is filthy. Anyone who isn't a Slytherin cannot be trusted. Me and the rest of us go by these rules, set for us by the people who've raised us. No one swayed, not even if we wanted to, not even if conscience dictates otherwise. Actually, we have no use for conscience. It's part of the training, you see. Conscience is thrown out of the window. It makes you weak, it makes you think twice, it makes you unsure then it makes you fail. We only value logic, magic and blood purity.

The fact that we move in the circle of death eaters even though my parents weren't death eaters themselves put my father in some kind of high. It was so infectious that I believed it. He always said we were in the right side, that we'd gain from it when it's all over and that we will be favoured by the Dark Lord. It was a happy thought. And the more to me, knowing that I am in the same side as Draco. But when things got awry in 1995, Draco seemed dispirited by it all. Lucius Malfoy was imprisoned and the Dark Lord was furious with Draco's family. It was a blow Draco never seemed to recuperate from. To lose the favor of the Dark Lord himself was the worst form of humiliation for our kind.

It was in our 6th year in school that I knew that Draco was slowly slipping away. His reasons for being in the Dark Lord's side weren't the same as mine anymore. He changed. I think he grew up, and became a man. He realized that there are more fearsome things in this world than touching a mudblood's robes. He feared death and despised living. I did not know about his task back then. But I noticed that haunted look that never seemed to leave his face. But he never opened up to me anymore. He kept to himself most of the time, and worked alone for long hours. And when he gets back to the common room he would lie on my lap and allow me to stroke his hair, but he would never tell me about his day. Unlike before. He would easily fall asleep and I would take pleasure in watching him, tracing the features of his face with my hand and carving it in my mind.

"I never stopped believing in you, Draco."

After that, fear never left my heart. I knew, somewhere within me, that we would soon come to an end. It was as inevitable, like death and change. Despite it all, I still did what I thought was right. I remained loyal to our cause, I remained loyal to Draco. I fought a silent battle in my head, and years of pureblood ancestry and training got the best of me. In the end, we lost. And I, as you all know, lost Draco as well.

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><p><strong>AN: Reviews would be highly encouraged :3 3**


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